Dancing with Demons
by coerulus
Summary: Eight years from their humble beginnings, the Scarlet Hand has risen from one member to an iron fisted dictatorship that now rules the world. They are like nothing the world has ever seen before. Unstoppable. Merciless. But when two impulsive teenage rebels fall in love, it may well be the fall of an empire...and the end of the world.
1. I

**TRIGGER WARNING: Do not read if you are sensitive to the following: death, abuse, and swearing. Also, I do not own Sisters Grimm; Michael Buckley does.**

* * *

 _December 12, 2010_

 _We lost the war against the Scarlet Hand today. They stole the spell to the barrier and they're free now, and they've killed our most powerful witches. I'm just so glad that Daphne didn't join the coven, because they might have taken her too. They've given us one day to grieve and to pack the few belongings that we have, and I have to write in this so that maybe someone can pick it up and save us. We don't know where we're going, but if you're reading this—the Hand is brutal. They will show no mercy._

 _Nottingham, Heart, and Atticus were all led by Mirror. He said he has plans for us 'foolish humans and traitorous Everafters' with his new power. I don't know what he means by it, but it can't be good._

 _December 27, 2010_

 _I haven't been able to find time to write in this journal. Daphne, Red, Basil, Mom, Dad, Uncle Jake, and Mr. Canis are nowhere to be seen. I fear that they are dead. Puck is with me in this…camp where the most horrible things happen. The Hand, they kill for sport. They kill their own kind, just for the fun of it. I'm only twelve. I shouldn't be seeing things like this. They abuse all of us. We're prisoners of war, they say. I don't know what happens to prisoners of war._

 _February 19, 2011_

 _I'm still hoping that someone, someone's still alive and out there. Maybe there's a few, but the Hand is sure to exterminate them soon._

 _June 30, 2011_

 _I've started giving up hope. Puck doesn't have anything to say on the matter, so I think he agrees with me. If this journal falls into the wrong hands, I could be killed, or worse, tortured. I pray every night that someone will come and liberate us._

 _August 9, 2012_

 _I'm still holding out. Someday, somewhere, someone will come and help us. We can't all be stupider than the Hand._

 _The abuse here grows worse every day._

 **June 12, 2016. Ferryport Landing, NY. 4:45 AM.**

By now, Sabrina should really be used to being woken up by a cinderblock to the head.

She'd been taken captive after losing the war against Scarlet Hand at just the tender age of twelve, separated from her brother and two sisters. Six years later, she's still unused to their absence, the maggot-infested food, the hard cots, and the beatings administered to her by her betters, the Scarlet Hand.

"Get up, you worthless shit excuse for a human," Master Toby growls. A blue eye blinks open from a fitful sleep, and she sees the half-spider brandish a familiar gray cinderblock over her head. A dull thud and a slight wave of pain on the top of her head signal the beginning of another long day of toiling in the fields. She's not yet eighteen, and therefore not yet assigned to the more demanding construction work with the adults. "GET UP!"

She mutely rolls out of the way before she can receive another blow, and Master Toby drops the cinderblock on her fingers. Better not say anything and push her luck; the fact that he's only hit her once shows that he's in an unusually good mood. "There's work to be done in the fields and that retarded Andersen's gone and broken her leg. Get, Grimm! Pathetic little bitch, get going already!" He slaps her across the face and goes to awaken the next prisoner in the same manner.

She groans quietly, her sprained ankle flaring with pain. Her face is painfully thin, cheeks sunken in and every part of her skull protruding and sharp. Madam Heart and Master Nottingham have been good enough to give the prisoners a grimy square of glass that's used mainly to pull rotting teeth, but Sabrina uses it to judge how many days closer to death she is. Not that the other prisoners are that much better off; all of them are frighteningly skinny, piles of skin and bones. One day closer to heaven, she thinks dryly.

Breakfast is as gloomy an affair as it always is, tiny portions of thin and tasteless barley gruel being ladled out into unwashed clay bowls. Beast roughly shoves her share towards her, and a worm squiggles in the slop.

"Eat while you can, stupid human," he chuckles nastily. He swats Sabrina in the head and lumbers back to ladling gruel for the next prisoner.

She picks at the stuff moodily, as if stirring it will somehow improve its taste and texture. The rest of the prisoners sit dejectedly by Sabrina. Some wolf down their gruel and eye the others' rations hungrily, but most of them refuse to eat the swill in front of them, despite their aching hunger.

"It won't taste better if you stir it," a voice admonishes her. She turns her head to see Puck, former Crown Prince of Faerie, plunk down with a bowl of gruel on her left. He's got this snarky grin constantly plastered on his face, and that—stupid boy—is why he's a personal target of the Hand, because he's unafraid of their terrorist regime. Almost as if he knows something that they don't. But he's wrong; they're called the Scarlet Hand for a reason. Because they will crush their enemies without hesitation and their blood will stain scarlet on their fingers.

"I like to pretend that it does," Sabrina says listlessly. She flicks her spoon and a chunk of lumpy gray barley goes flying.

"Pretending is useless, you know?"

"Aren't you just a little ray of sunshine today."

He grins, a dimple showing in his left cheek. "Damn right, Grimm." She cracks a smile at his teasing. "Hurry up before Pothead-ham comes back and slaps the shit out of you for not eating." She shakes her head and pushes her bowl of gruel in front of Puck. He lifts her eyebrows at her.

"Not hungry," she mumbles. "And you need it more than me." It was true. Puck, having aged past eighteen, was forced to do construction the mortal way, without modern technology, all while overseers in the Hand watched and punished him.

"You're even skinnier than I am," he protests, sliding the bowl back in front of her. "I can see all of your ribs through that shirt. Eat a spoonful," he wheedles. Sabrina swallows the stuff in the spoon that he puts to her lips with a shudder and a grimace. A rotten taste lingers on her tongue and she obstinately shoves it away.

"Just hold your breath and down it," he says, gulping down his meager ration and Sabrina's. "It doesn't make it better, but it's food and you're never going to see it again."

"You call this food?" He shrugs.

"See you tonight," he calls over his shoulder. She nods silently. The barracks are alphabetized by last name, so Grimm and Goodfellow are put together, along with Greengrass and Graham. He jogs off towards the construction sites, and Sabrina reluctantly scrapes her chair back and heads in the opposite direction for the fields.

It's hot and oppressive in the fields, the heavy scent of ripening manure permeating the already smoky air. Some of the workers are already hard at work, as well as the Hand overseers. Even from fifty yards, Sabrina can see the bloody redness on her fellow prisoners' backs.

She picks up a hoe and starts attacking the dry earth, her wrenched shoulder blades screaming in agony. Every vengeful thought of the Master, or Master Atticus, or Madam Heart and Master Nottingham brings Sabrina to lift up the tool and strike it into the dirt. They languish in the tall mansion separated from the dirty work and rarely make public appearances.

Her mind wanders to her fellow prisoners as she robotically lifts the hoe and slams it into the ground.

Far away are the construction workers, where Puck is. Wooden frames of houses stand with clusters of prisoners by the corners, and some chop wood while others break rocks. It's torturous, laborious work, and the strongest Everafters and humans work side by side there.

Closer by are the forges, where kindly Geppetto and his son, Pinocchio, are confined. They work in the thick and choking smoke, making weapons for the Hand. They've been stripped of their magic—the Hand had gotten hold of and consequently 'disposed of' the Blue Fairy to accomplish that—and only the Master is given magic to handle, not even his lapdogs.

She thinks of the barracks, empty and cold. Snow might be there right now, checking for shirkers hiding curled beneath the beds. She teaches the new recruits for the Hand's army. Six years ago, she would have spat in the face of anyone who told her that she'd be part of the Hand, but after a torture session and a blast of magic…

A whip sings through the air and makes a gash in Sabrina's cheek, successfully jarring her from her daydreams. It's Master Bluebeard, hovering over her with a gleeful smirk on his face. He traces a grimy finger along her chapped and bloody lips.

"You know what happens to little girls here who don't do their work, right _sweetheart_ ," he purrs quietly, licking his lips. "They satisfy me. But then I want more. And when I want more, I will _always_ get more." He slaps her rear end and purposefully stomps on her foot, making her wince in pain— _holy fucking shit_. Broken toes, maybe.

"Remember what happens, darling," he says lowly. "You're a Grimm, so they'll let me do whatever I want with you. And that means that I will be a very happy man."

Her breath catches in her lungs. Master Bluebeard is and always had been one of her least favorite overseers in the Hand. He scares her— _God—_ he scares her so badly, and his very presence makes the hair on her neck stand up and ice cubes drip down her back.

The noon sun scorches overhead and they continue their work without breaking for lunch. She limps in her work, burning muscles and inflamed wounds and the hiss of the whip through the air all simultaneously demanding for Sabrina's attention. Master Bluebeard leaves a slap mark on Sabrina's face, and Master Jack throws her a few looks by the end of the day when the prisoners are given a few chunks of moldy bread with rotten milk for dinner.

She's exhausted and bloody when Puck comes to sit next to her. He cups her chin in his hands and looks at her wounds, gritting his teeth in frustration.

"I could heal you," he whispers, "but they took away my magic."

She shakes her head. "It's bad for me. You can't do that. And besides, your magic would never completely put me right."

"I never said I could put you right," Puck says, grinning. "I doubt anyone can." She socks him in the shoulder lightly.

"All the magic in the world couldn't put one of us right," she says.

"Mmm." He picks up the hunk of bread and tries fruitlessly to tear off a piece with his teeth. "Fuck. I can't even shapeshift to tear this apart."

She shrugs and sips the milk. It's disgusting and she's positive that there's something vile living in the stuff. "Someday, someone's gonna come and free us."

He snorts, a dry and derisive sound. "Right. And I'm Nottingham."

" _Master_ Nottingham," she hisses. "Someone could hear you, idiot."

"Does it look like I give a damn?"

"Not really."

"Exactly." He downs his rotten milk in one gulp and pulls a face. "What's that human phrase you have? I've got nothing left to lose? I used to think that you've got your life to lose, but now I'm just thinking 'fuck it, I want to die'. Better than having to face this place every morning."

"Just don't say it," she snaps. "I don't want to have to watch you get hurt. It's not fun." She cringes as she remembers how two years ago, Puck ran his mouth and got into a lot of hot water with Master Nottingham and was forced to be flogged in front of the entire camp.

He winks. "No need to get all mushy on me, Grimm." She cracks a smile.

They walk back to the barracks together, silent as their footsteps sink into the earth that's been moistened with the blood of the prisoners. They climb into their bunks, whisper a 'good night' to each other, and pray for a few hours of sleep to help them combat tomorrow's hell.

All things considered, she thinks as her wounds throb and rock her to sleep, today was a good day.

* * *

 **A/N: Guess who got attacked by plot bunnies in an elevator! (Me) Anyways...I wanted to experiment with the 'love in wartime' concept and this popped out of my brain. Keep in mind that this is a story about rebellion, so there won't be a lot of really fluffy fluff. I might write some connected 'fluffy' oneshots to go along with this story, so make sure you watch for those!**

 **Thanks for reading, please go follow and favorite this story and leave a review down below! I look forward to and appreciate ALL sorts of feedback, positive or negative. Whether you thought it was great, horrible, mediocre, or have questions about the plot, I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	2. II

**June 13, 2016. Ferryport Landing, NY. 4:45 AM.**

Sabrina opens her eyes woozily and sure enough—of course, of fucking course—there's a cinderblock hovering over her face. It smashes into her right temple and she scrambles as fast as she can on her broken toes to kiss Master Toby's shoes even though it hurts, oh dear God it hurts so badly. He grunts and kicks Sabrina's back, and shuffles off to beat the other prisoners in the barracks. But the moment he leaves, she falls back on to her barracks with a gasp of pain.

"My toes," she whispers, not having the stomach to look at the mangled things somehow still attached by strings of tendons to her foot. Puck rushes over to her side and curses.

"Which one?" he asks, tilting her face down to look in his clouded green eyes.

"Master Bluebeard," she chokes out. "He did it."

"I don't know how to set bones back," Puck murmurs, propping her foot up on the cot. "You'll never be able to do work like this."

"I have to. They'll hurt me more if I don't." Her voice is plaintive, and through all the layers scarred by the war and the abuse and the need to grow up too fast too soon, she still keeps holding onto some tiny spark of childishness.

"They gave Andersen a pass," Puck reminds her. "Stay here. I'll steal from the infirmary."

She grabs his arm and almost gets yanked off her cot as a result. "Are you insane? You could be tortured for that."

"You're _being tortured_ right now," he snaps.

"I'll live," she retorts. "You might not if you go through with that stupid plan of yours."

But he's out the door before she can continue with her spiel, and so she makes a move to put her shoes on. Sir Gawain holds her back.

"More injury shalt thou causeth to thine foot by agitating it," he says. It's hard to understand the Old English that he speaks in, but even Sabrina knows that he's trying to discourage her from walking today.

A few minutes later, Puck's back with a questionable lump inside his filthy, dirt caked pajamas. He reveals it to be a roll of gauze, which he proudly extends to Sabrina with an annoyingly smug smirk on his face.

"I told you I could do it," he says, still smirking. She rolls her eyes and gently punches him, the soft blonde waves of hair brushing her hand. He rinses off the caked blood and pus, then gently prods the bones back into place—or so she thinks, because neither she nor Puck are exactly licensed doctors—and binds them in filmy white gauze. It doesn't feel much better, but it doesn't feel much worse either.

"Thank you," she breathes quietly.

"Be safe," he whispers, squeezing her hand. "Let's go to breakfast now."

The day is just as horribly hot as before, and Sabrina can feel the unbearable waves of heat making her foot throb like crazy.

"It'll be fine," he reassures her. "You'll get through it. I promise."

"Yeah," she says, but her voice is hollow and devoid of all emotion.

Beast has a leering grin on his furry face this morning, which can't possibly be good. "You're in luck today, you spineless maggots." He doles out a larger-than-usual bowl of gruel, and something in it squirms. "Fish for you."

Last I checked, fish weren't supposed to be alive when you ate them, Sabrina thinks dryly. She pokes suspiciously at the stuff, and a whole bunch of _somethings_ burst out from it.

"Parasites," Puck says in disgust. "You'll get sick, and you know exactly what happens to the prisoners that get sick and don't get well soon."

She nods silently. She'd be sent to the Master and she'd be killed and— _disposed of_ immediately. "Not like I would eat it anyways." So they sit in a stony silence and hope that they aren't noticed, because wasting food is a crime and a sin to those in the Hand, despite the fact that they do so all the _damn_ time. The dogs eat better than us, Sabrina thinks.

She's breaking her back in the fields again and trying desperately to ignore the lashings that rain down on her when Master Bluebeard suddenly swears loudly. Explosions and loud noises start coming from the mansion where the Master and his henchmen (and in the case of Madam Heart, henchwoman) stay.

He knocks Sabrina to the ground and sprints to see the commotion while she tries to right herself, her right foot flaring with pain as she pushes herself up off the ground. She hisses in pain and fury.

A small stream of people seem to be pouring out of the mansion, holding…magic wands. And magical objects. Sabrina's breath quickens. Liberation? Was their freedom coming at last?

A group of the strangers rushes out into the fields and start randomly collecting prisoners. They fight back, obviously, but after a few muttered words, they relax and start to run with the strangers. Sabrina tries to hobble over, but _damn_ this stupid foot and _stupid_ Master Bluebeard for making her like this.

The flapping of brown leather brings her hobbling to a halt as she puts her fists up, ready to fight her attacker.

"I won't hurt you," the man's familiar voice says. "I'm here to help you, but you have to stay with me. Go!" Her breath catches, sticky and slow in her throat and choking her. She looks up at her savior, a face with a crooked nose and deep blue eyes…!

Understanding and warmth rush through her, her skin tingling and eyes widening as her unbelieving, childish voice asks, "Uncle Jake?" The moment the words leave her mouth, she knows it's true; she can feel the magic, her drug, starting to numb her senses and heighten them at the same time. The poison laces the air and a drunken smile appears on her face as the magic rekindles her reckless addiction—but who can blame her, because it feels so good, it tastes like sweet, godly nectar on her tongue—

"'Brina," he breathes. "I've found you." He hesitates, turns to hug her when he's yanked back by some supernatural force.

It's Master Nottingham, his silver knife at Jake's throat. His head is held by Master Nottingham's arm and his face is turning _blue_ and he's choking and she can't _think_ because the panic and the fear and adrenaline are all just turning to a blackish poison in her bloodstream—

"Let me go, Nottingham," he chokes out, hands scrabbling wildly and feet kicking in all directions.

"Not likely," the greasy man hisses, digging the blade into his throat. A bead of crimson trickles down his collarbone.

"Stop," Sabrina croaks. She makes a move to get to Master Nottingham but he backhands her with so much force, she goes skidding across the field, twenty feet away from Jake. She feels the gravel embedded in her bloody wounds and seethes with pain.

"You're coming with me, Jacob," Master Nottingham says with a malicious grin. "I've waited a long time for this."

She stretches her hand out futilely as she watches him get dragged away, his feet digging furrows in the ground, watches her family get wrested from her grip yet again.

"Sabrina!"

She turns, broken and tear stained towards the only person in this damn camp who _cares_ about her.

"You need to get out of here. It's dangerous," Puck says, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She beats her fists against his back, feeling the welts and swollen scars from whips beneath her.

"But that's Uncle Jake!" she shrieks, the hysteria building in her stomach and mixing with the bile that's warming her throat. "He's my family. I need him."

"I have to protect you," Puck snarls. "Jake can take care of himself."

"And I can't?!"

"Not on that foot, you can't," he says, "and that's final. We're getting you to safety."

"But I need him," she sobs because it's _true._ She grew up too fast and then she finally got a family and was just starting to get used to it when it was ripped away from her yet again and God it-it _hurts_ worse than any kind of hell she's ever had to experience. "He's my family. I need him."

"I know you do and I need him too," he says, voice cracking against his will. "You have to trust that he can take care of himself and he'll be back again."

"What if he doesn't," Sabrina whispers, half choking on mingled blood, spit, and words. "What if Master Nottingham gets to him first?"

"He won't." But Puck sounds like he's trying to convince himself too.

They're pushed forward suddenly by Master Bluebeard. "Get!" he roars. "Get back to your barracks, all of you, you filthy swine! Get! Move," he growls to Puck, shoving him roughly to the side.

He runs, Sabrina clinging to the folds of his shirt for dear life and then deposits her onto the cot, skinny limbs shaking and himself panting like a dog in heat. "What the _fuck_ just happened."

Goldilocks shakes her head. The hair that she was once famous for now lies lackluster and thin against her equally thin face. "I saw Jacob," she whispers. "And Charming and Snow and Canis."

Sabrina jumps at her words. "Who else did you see, Goldi? Did you see anyone else? Did you see my family?" The words bubble up in her throat like a shaken bottle of soda, all clamoring to get out and spill from her lips.

She shakes her head morosely. "I didn't see them. I only saw Jake and Charming and Snow and Canis. I didn't see your parents or your siblings."

Sabrina slumps, defeated, on her cot. Puck's face is set in stone, his teeth biting so hard on his bottom lip it draws blood to coat his tongue. "Did you see what happened to them?" Sabrina pressed. "Uncle Jake…Master Nottingham got him. I think he'll kill Uncle Jake," she adds, a note of hysteria in her voice.

"I don't doubt it," Goldilocks whispers back. "The Hand is not known for its mercy."

"They won't kill him." Everyone in the barracks turns towards Puck's tired voice. "He's a Grimm, and one of the more powerful ones. They won't kill him. They'll torture him. They will get every last drop of information about the ones who escaped. And then they'll leave him to rot in the dungeons," he says savagely.

The dungeons were created by the Master to house the particularly rebellious prisoners, and the occasional suspect of the outside force. It was enchanted (obviously) and only Scarlet Hand members could enter and exit. From the rumors she had heard, the dungeons had spells imbued on them so that every person thrown in would experience maximum agony, but never die. In essence, it was Hell on Earth.

"He'll fight Nottingham," Goldilocks says. "I know he will. Jacob's a fighter."

"I know," Puck says, "but Nottingham overpowers him in almost every way. I'll be surprised if he makes it out alive."

"Stop!" Sabrina shrieks. "This is my uncle you're talking about here!"

Goldilocks looks at her and wraps her bone-thin arms around her. "I'm sorry, Sabrina. We need to keep our hopes alive, though."

She dries her eyes. "How?"

"I don't know," she admits. "But somehow, we'll do it."

"We're just going to sit here and wait for some miracle to happen?" Sabrina snaps.

Goldilocks averts her gaze.

"We're going to get him out."

The entirety of the barracks gasps at her. "Are you fucking _insane_ ," Puck hisses. "That is a suicide mission, Grimm, and you know it."

"I don't care," she says. "I'm going to get my uncle back."

"And how, if you don't mind my asking," Puck says icily.

"I'm going to break into the mansion."

"How do you even know that's where he'll be kept?"

"Are you stupid? Do you not hear the screams coming from that place? Do you not _hear_ the prisoners being fucking _tortured_ inside?" she demands.

"And when are you going to do this, Sabrina?" Puck snaps, his face livid. She thinks for a second.

"Tomorrow."

* * *

 **A/N: Ahahahahahahaha. The cliffhangers start again. They're just too much fun to write, I suppose. On a brighter note, I think you can expect consistent updates with this story, because I've planned it all out and I have a good store of prewritten chapters saved in my Doc Manager (I learned the hard way to not just leave them in Word).**

 **With that said, thank you for reading! Please follow and favorite this story and leave a review! Questions, comments, constructive criticism, praise, and flames are all welcome. Seriously though, flames make me laugh. And the more reviews, the more my ego is boosted and the more inspiration I get, which will lead to faster updates ;) Win-win!**


	3. III

There is silence; a deep, pounding silence as the gravity of Sabrina's proposal sinks in.

"Tomorrow." Puck bites his lip again. "Tomorrow?"

"You're crazy," Goldilocks says. "You will _die_."

"Watch me."

Puck slams his fist on the cot, making Sabrina jump from her seat. "NO! Goddammit, don't you understand? You're _not_ going to die as long as I can help it!"

She nearly claws Puck's eyes out at this point. Doesn't he _understand_ that she _needs_ Jake, needs him like she needs oxygen because she's doomed without any help in this hellhole? "You don't get it, do you, airhead?"

"No, I don't get it! Jake is perfectly able of taking out Nottingham _without_ your help," he snarls. "That is a fucking suicide mission."

"You act like I care." She waves her hand at him dismissively.

"You should," he hisses.

"I lost my entire family in the war! I am _beyond_ , far beyond caring about my own life," Sabrina says, her voice trembling audibly.

He grabs her by the shoulders and forces her tortured blue eyes to look into his own. "But I need you. I will go insane without you. Mustardseed? Gone. Daphne? Gone. Everyone's gone except for you, Grimm. You keep me from losing my mind in this place."

"Just barely," she whispers. "This is war. We're all losing our minds, or have already lost them."

They sit in silence, trying to ignore their throbbing wounds as the past—only the past two hours, really—sink into their brains, digging their claws into the flesh with the taunting reminder that they were so close, yet so far from freedom.

The dinner bell clangs loudly and they drag their feet slowly and miserably out the door as Master Toby brandishes his whip in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other. He takes a swig from it and pulls on Goldilocks' hair as she files past, derogatory and sexist slurs falling out of his mouth with some added help from the alcohol.

Murmurs run through the crowd at dinner, and Beast has to repeatedly roar at them to 'shut your filthy mouths' when Sabrina realizes that the gruel bowls are emptier than usual.

"Where's the food?" she hisses at Puck, who shrugs.

"SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTHS!" Beast bellows. "YOUR FOOD SUPPLIER HAS BEEN TEMPORARILY CUT OFF. NOW SHUT UP AND EAT WHAT YOU HAVE."

"Food supplier," Puck scoffs. "Because _we_ farm all the edible things for swine like them to eat while we get served little more than—"

"—stagnant water," Sabrina finishes. He grimaces, a sort of hard determination and something else fogging his usually clear green eyes. "What are you thinking?"

She's momentarily distracted by the sound of a loud _slap_ as she whirls around to see Beast towering over a small child. He has lank brown hair and his ankles stick out more prominently than thorns on a rose. Her face whitens, because she knows his sister—

"Hansel," Puck whispers to her. "It's Hansel."

"Shut your yapping mouth boy, before I shut it for you," Beast growls, the clawed fingernails on his hand rising up to strike the boy's face again.

Gretel, his sister, pulls him into her arms and folds him in a hug, trying to put herself between him and Beast. "I know you're hungry. You can have mine, Hansel." Hansel sniffles and buries his face into his sister's shoulder, their bone-thin frames holding onto each other like there wasn't going to be a tomorrow. Which was a perfectly plausible assumption.

"You'll still have to work the same tomorrow, little girl," Beast sneers. "Your compassion won't have any effect on us." The fangs on his face shine with monstrous saliva and there's a sort of strange, ironic hunger burning in the pupils of his yellow eyes.

It's probably just her ears playing tricks on her, but Sabrina thinks she says, "because you're all soulless, evil animals". She can't have said it because Beast just laughs and departs without hitting either one of them.

Sabrina and Puck watch pitifully as Hansel scarfs down Gretel's ration as well and curls up behind his knees, his sister pulling him close towards her and rubbing his back soothingly. "You're alive, Hansel. Shh, you're alive, sweetheart, you're alive." Sabrina notes that Gretel doesn't even bother trying to tell Hansel it's okay when it's so glaringly obvious that nothing in this place is okay.

"This is beyond ridiculous," she whispers to Puck.

"I know." He rubs his jaw.

"And we're completely helpless. We can't do anything about it."

"You're wrong," he says suddenly, a grin lighting up his face. "We're breaking into the mansion kitchens," he adds in an undertone.

"We?!" Her face is a mixture of shock and anger. "Aren't you being a hypocrite! You give me a load of shit for wanting to break out Uncle Jake, but you want to rob the kitchens?"

"Yes," he says simply. "It benefits me too, so I'll do it or die trying. Come on, Grimm. The Trickster King and the Queen of Sneaks. The perfect duo. We can eat. You can finally have food—real food. And clean water."

Her head spins and the blood's all rushing to her face and her forehead throbs—hurts, aches, _cries_. Simultaneously, almost, the blood rushes back to her right foot and she can feel something wet soaking through the bandages. "Grimm?" She looks at Hansel and Gretel, whom she knew before the war. They were very plump, roly-poly children, and seeing them reduced to a skeletal frame pierced her heart. It didn't help that Gretel's dark brown braids brought back a nauseating wave of nostalgia either…

But the prospect of food. Clean water. A brief moment where there would be nobody to whip her back or call her obscenities or treat her like she's some sort of mule…

"Let's do this."

 **June 13, 2016. Ferryport Landing, NY. 11:15 PM.**

"You getting around on that foot okay?" Puck's quiet whisper startles her from her hiding place pressed against the back door of the mansion kitchen. Buttery golden lantern light shines across his face, illuminating premature crow's feet and protruding cheekbones.

"I'll be fine," she says through gritted teeth. Truth be told, sweat's beading on her hairline and her hands are clammy, but she had suffered through worse pain.

"You sure? I don't want you screwing this up because you were too noble to admit to suffering," Puck grumbles dryly. She punches him lightly in the shoulder.

"I'm sure, gasbag," she says, almost fondly. Funny that there would be any such positive emotion in the midst of a dystopian society snatched straight from storybooks.

"I can hear the cook about to come out," he whispers. "Be ready to jump." She nods and her muscles tense slightly in the crouching position she's holding.

"Finally done. Last meal of the day for them," an unfamiliar voice says from behind the thin wooden doors. Puck throws a glance at Sabrina and she nods.

The door opens with a loud squeal of oil deprived hinges and Sabrina springs from her place and tackles him the moment he shuts the door. She slams her hand over his mouth and his eyes widen, taking in her hollowed cheekbones and scraggly hair and immediately recognizing her as a prisoner.

Puck swiftly punches the cook in the temple and his eyes roll back into his head and his body goes limp. "That should take care of him for a while." They drag it off to the side and glance around for any Scarlet Hand members on the prowl—surprisingly, there aren't any. Sabrina gently twists the doorknob, oh-so-carefully trying to make no noise, which is really hard considering that the thing hasn't been oiled since its construction.

The mouthwatering scent of roast beef invades Sabrina's nostrils, and she can literally feel saliva dripping from her tongue.

"Puck," she whispers in awe. "Look…pure water."

His head whips around and his eyes widen. He shoves his head under the tap and opens it wide, a cold stream of clear liquid running into his mouth. "Oh…Grimm, it's so good to taste pure water." He moves aside and Sabrina takes her turn.

It is bliss. It is pure and unadulterated bliss to feel the cold, sweet water cascade down her tongue and sooth her parched throat, washing away the memories of stagnant, lukewarm, bacteria-laden water that she's always been served. She utters a slight whimper at the simple, yet underrated pleasure of being able to drink clean water.

"Let's move," Puck says urgently, rifling through the pantry. The yeasty smell of fresh bread wafts into Sabrina's nose, and it's all she can do to not drool on the floor. She seizes several loaves and a chunk of unmolded cheese.

"What's this?" she asks, pointing towards a metal door. She cautiously pulls it open and gets assaulted by a blast of cold air. It's a giant refrigerator, she thinks as she carefully slips some carrots in her uniform and some leafy greens. She cracks open a carton of something and stares at it in awe. "Ice cream!" She hasn't had ice cream in…six years now. Starved and desperate, she digs her dirt caked fingernails into the ice cream and lets it melt into vanilla flavored nectar on her tongue. She licks her fingers and continues, knowing she can't steal a delicacy like that for the prisoners.

Sabrina hears a loud _slurp, slurp_ from behind her and finds that Puck's been wolfing down spaghetti Bolognese by the palm. Not that she can blame him. "It's been so long since I've had decent food." She nods hungrily, tearing off a hunk of rosemary flavored bread with her teeth and scarfing the entire loaf.

"I'm so full after so little," she says. "My stomach's shrunken."

"Mine hasn't," Puck says with a grin. "My stomach will never shrink." She laughs lightly, knowing full well that Puck's appetite could rarely ever be satisfied. He groans. "Ugh, it's so good. I can't stop eating."

She gasps. "Chicken. Is…is it real?" She takes a bite, the roast fowl overwhelming all of her taste buds. "Oh…It's real."

They run around the kitchen for the most part, eating as much food as they can get their hands on, knowing that an opportunity like this was too dangerous to not profit from.

"Thank you, Puck."

He turns abruptly and grins, his face covered in cheese sauce. "For what?"

"For this." She gestures at the expanse of food (they've managed to eat quietly enough and not make too much of a mess as to alert any Scarlet Hand members). "For feeding me. For trying to feed the kids." She manages a weak smile. Her stomach feels strange and heavy. Full. It's such a wonderfully foreign sensation to her after six years, and it feels like heaven, like sweet relief.

He crosses over to her and cups her chin in his hands. "We're all in this together," he murmurs into her hair. "Whatever we do, we'll do it together." She nods, letting the smell of wood smoke and some musky, earthy scent (a surprisingly pleasant combination) flood her nostrils and mingle in her bloodstream.

A loud _creak_.

The unmistakable snap of a whip.

"You'll be punished together, that's for sure, my pretty, pretty darlings."

* * *

 **A/N: Sooooo, a little bit on the short side, but I hope it's intense enough to make up for that. Be on the lookout for any other Everafters that might be introduced! Also, would you mind terribly if I wrote a chapter or two from the antagonists' points of view? I have a chapters prewritten told from two different points of view and I'm not sure which one I should post. So, would you be interested in seeing something from an antagonist point of view? As in, Heart, Atticus, and Nottingham?**

 **Amy Grimm: Heh, puppy dog eyes gets me every time. That thing about being a crazy cat lady? Nah, crazy dog lady for the win. And I went back and fixed the little thing you pointed out, thanks for telling me! I'm so happy you love the story!**

 **QOTD: What's the funniest/stupidest lie you've ever told in your life?  
**

 **AOTD: I once told a guy I was a lesbian because he _would not_ stop hitting on me. True story. In my defense, he was getting really annoying and my fist was getting really itchy. **

**Anyways, thanks for reading! Please follow and favorite this story and remember to leave a review on your way out!**


	4. IV

A very long string of colorful language runs through Sabrina's mind. Face blanches, head pounds, limbs held in a state of full body paralysis as memories come surging up from the oceans of her mind, unbidden and unwanted—

 _"Sabrina!" Doe eyes, pleading from two yards that feel a million miles away._

 _She struggles against the shackles that bind her hands and ankles, thrashing like a fish out of water trying to get back to the sea. Rough hands strike her, choke her, violate her. "Daphne, Daphne, hold on. I'm coming."_

 _"Help me!"_

 _"It's okay, baby, just hold on, I'm coming! I'm coming! Hold on, Daphne."_

 _"Sabrina!" She watches the figure dwindle away, fighting all the while, a vicious song of chains and shackles singing its death melody in her ears._

 _The fight drains from her body and she slumps in the chains, defeated at the present moment. Exhaustion and hunger claw at her brain, screaming, begging for sleep and food._

 _Hold on, Daphne. I'm coming for you, baby, I promise. Just hold on._

The unnamed cook stands before Sabrina and Puck, who's quite literally been caught red-handed, courtesy of the spaghetti Bolognese he's been chowing down on.

"Was the food good?" he asked mockingly. "Did you enjoy pretending to be YOUR MASTERS, YOU FILTHY ANIMALS?"

Sabrina cringes at the volume of his voice. Her tanned hands are visibly trembling and she hunches over instinctively, trying to protect herself from the lashes that she will inevitably receive in the very near future.

The cook towers over her, his rank breath splashing on Sabrina's face. She quivers beneath his stare and feels a sharp slap to her cheek. Her hair's being pulled by a demanding fist and her feet throb and oh _damn_ is that her period? She groans internally. Lovely.

The cook turns to Puck and leers at him. "Well, well. Do my eyes deceive me? Blonde curls," he muses, softly and coldly, a clawed fingernail tilting Puck's set jaw upwards, "tall…eyes like newly cut emeralds, they say. The Crown Prince of Faerie, sunken to being a filthy, lowlife prisoner where he has to steal for a mouthful of food." He takes out a knife and runs the tip over Puck's rough skin. "Tell me boy…what has it done for your dignity, to be commanding an entire kingdom and then cavorting with these _barbarians_ —" he gestures to Sabrina "—and then having to slave away for a bite of bread?"

"You don't even deny that we're being treated by slaves," Puck chokes out. "You, just the cook—"

"Shut up," Sabrina hisses. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up_."

The cook laughs. "Smarter than she looks, this one. No matter. You are condemned, one way or another."

Well, _fuck_.

Quiet. Silence. Breathless.

Death.

"You'll not die just yet, fools," the cook snaps in disgust, as if he can read Sabrina's mind. "You won't escape so easily."

He seizes both of them by the scruffs of their necks, and Sabrina shoots Puck a glare when he tries to aim a kick at the cook's leg. Dinner is long over, and when two of the most notorious prisoners are noted missing and the Hand's cook is dead, Master Nottingham can put two and two together. They will be punished regardless of the circumstances.

They're dragged to the Hand's mansion, where the cook knocks sharply on the door. Master Nottingham opens it unsteadily, a bottle of hard liquor sloshing in his hand. "What, you lowly swine?"

"I caught these two stealing from the kitchens, Master Nottingham," the cook says respectfully, though his teeth are gritted. "Thought you'd like to show 'em a lesson or two."

His beady black eyes peer out from the greased black hair. "As I live and breathe," he snarls softly. "Grimm filth and a dishonored fairy prince. Give them here," he says roughly. They're thrown into a room of ostentatious luxury, silks and velvets and precious metals and gems adorning every surface of the room. Mistress Heart sits upon a plush settee, a bottle dangling precariously from her loose grip as she eyes the newcomers like fresh meat.

The door is slammed shut and the unmistakable click of a lock reaches Sabrina's ears.

Master Nottingham gives the two a cursory glance. "Which one of you started it?"

They're silent, neither wanting to rat the other out.

He licks his lips. "Well then. Atticus, bring the prisoners out into the square, and tell them I have a treat for them." Master Atticus throws down the paper he's reading and throws the prisoners a disdainful look as he stalks past.

A tortured cry rises from somewhere deep in the mansion, a cry that sounds so eerily familiar it makes the hair on Sabrina's neck stand up. "What's that?"

"None of your business, stupid girl!" Mistress Heart shrieks from her place on the settee. She shakes a bloated finger with a ruby ring on it at Sabrina. "My god, Nottingham, we'll just as soon need to muzzle these things."

"Mmm," Master Nottingham says, taking another swig of liquor. Mistress Heart titters shrilly and returns to lounging with her bottle.

Another scream.

Gooseflesh crops up on every inch of Sabrina's skin and a bead of sweat crawls its way down from her hairline.

"Nottingham, we really must do something about that." Mistress Heart jerks her head towards the sound of the scream.

"What is it?" Sabrina repeats, and Master Nottingham slaps her.

"Insolent child, obey your masters!" he roars at her. "Shut your whore mouth and don't speak until spoken to; are you touched in the head?"

She casts her gaze downwards, something still prickling uncomfortably in the back of her mind. Puck eyes the door, which is being blocked by a sneering Master Nottingham.

"Think you'll be able to get away, will you, _Prince_ Puck?" he leers at the fairy.

The door bangs open to reveal Master Atticus, his blood red hair streaming in the wind. "They're outside now, Nottingham."

"Right. Out with you then," he snaps at Sabrina and Puck, Master Atticus holding Puck's hands behind his back and Master Nottingham doing the same to Sabrina.

A coil of rope lies by the tree in the square. The tree itself is rather small, about two feet in diameter. Kerosene lamps are spread out in a ring around the tree, throwing ghostly shadows on its bark.

"You are gathered here for a demonstration," Master Nottingham addresses the prisoners, who glare sulkily at him. "A demonstration which I should hope quells every bit of disobedience in your vermin filled hearts." Several Hand members laugh cruelly.

"Let's see now," he murmurs greasily, "who first…"

Atticus gives a short, grunting laugh. "Ladies first, Nottingham, where are your manners?"

"Ah!" he exclaims. "Perfect. Grimm. Up to the tree, right now."

Sabrina's feet march against her will up to the tree. Dust floats into her eyes and mingles with the tears. Master Nottingham roughly rips her shirt off and ties her arms around the tree, then lashes them together with a length of rope. He slams her neck against the tree too and ties it there, an uncomfortable choking sensation burning in her head.

"Cook, give me that," Master Nottingham snarls. A thick black whip is placed in his hands, and he snaps it loudly ono the floor with a sickening _crack_. Sweat trickles down into Sabrina's eyes and the food she stole is threatening to all come back up now.

 _Crack!_

Some primitive animal cry bursts from her throat as the whip slices against her back. She won't cry yet, no, not yet not yet not yet—

 _Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!_

"Now you see," Master Nottingham bellows. "Now you see what becomes of thieves and traitors and filth." Lamplight pools in his hollowed cheeks and deep set eyes.

Out of the corner of her watery eyes, she can see Puck jerk wildly Atticus' grip before he gets hit on the head. Another flame licks her back and she cries out, crying like she's five years old again and she's scraped her knee for the first time and sweat's pouring down her forehead and she can't think—oh _god oh god oh god_ this isn't happening, she manages to convince herself (briefly).

"Leave her alone!" Puck screams. "Take me instead, please, please!" Something ragged contorts his face and an ugly sob twists the corner of his mouth as he struggles to wrench his arms free from Atticus' fists. "Quiet, boy!" he shouts.

The sharp bite of the whip is replaced with a dull throbbing in between lashes, and her back is bleeding freely. From the corner of her eyes, she can see the older prisoners cover the younger ones' eyes, who whimper and cry into their outfits.

A sharp, rough pain to the face jolts her from her hell as she realizes that Master Nottingham has unbound her neck and wrists and she slumps to the dusty floor. Unable to muster the strength to get up, she lies there like a dead fish.

"It's your turn, boy," he hisses at Puck, twirling his greasy mustache round an equally greasy finger. Master Atticus shoves him hard towards the tree and kicks Sabrina's limp body towards the side.

"Come on, child, we'll get you fixed up," whispers a kindly voice. Sabrina's blurry eyes open to reveal Momma, or Mother Goose. Her calloused hands are exceedingly gentle and she carefully tugs a shirt over Sabrina's backside.

The next hour is a blur of howling and pleas of 'make it stop' and crying children and the devil himself raking his long nails down her back.

Momma's hands are deft and capable. They clean Sabrina's back of the mutilated flesh clinging to the bloodiness, and splash cool water into the cuts. It burns at first, but soothes.

"I've done all I can," she says anxiously. "Clean it every day and get some medicine if you can for it. Don't you worry, honey; you're a Grimm. You'll survive. You're braver than all of us combined." She kisses Sabrina's forehead and escorts her back to the barracks where she sleeps for a couple hours.

"You'll be able to take care of her, won't you, honey?" Momma asks Gretel. The younger girl nods and dips a rag into water and starts to gently clean Sabrina's dusty face.

When she wakes up, there's a little girl with mousy brown hair peering down at her and patting her forehead with a cold cloth. Her big brown eyes are worried and light up a little when she stirs and utters a little whimper of pain.

"You're alive," she whispers.

"I am?" She feebly tries to raise her head but groans.

"You're so brave," Gretel replies. "Puck told me why you did what you did. That was so brave of you both."

"We didn't even get anything for Hansel," she mumbles incoherently, and it's all she can do to prevent blacking out. "He…he's okay?" Guilt stabs at her insides as she remembers her original reasons for stealing from the kitchens.

"Puck? He…" Gretel's voice trails off.

Sabrina makes a weak grasp at the girl's hand. "What happened?" It's slick with sweat and immediately falls down to her side as the inflamed skin is stretched tight.

"He…" Gretel swallows. Sabrina's vision starts dimming at the corners. "He's alright, Sabrina."

She sighs. "Good." Her eyes flutter shut and her chest pumps in and out, her breathing labored even in sleep. She draws shaky, ragged breaths as Gretel purses her lips.

Someone bangs once on the door, and Gretel hastens to open it. It's opened about halfway when she hits something and squeezes outside to see Puck, collapsed on bloody hands and knees. She gasps as she takes in his lash scarred back and blood soaked hair and black eye.

"Puck, come in," she whispers. "Can you stand?" He half stands, half leans on Gretel as she eases him onto his cot and begins to clean the flesh off his back as Momma did to Sabrina.

"Sabrina," Puck mutters. "She…what…"

"Asleep," Gretel confirms. "I cleaned her wounds, now lie down so I can clean yours."

"Let me see her," Puck demands wheezily. He hacks up a spray of blood and wipes it off with his grimy hand. "Sorry."

"Right there," Gretel says, unfazed, pointing to Sabrina's dark blur. "She's resting; you shouldn't bother her."

"Right." Puck has to muster an amount of strength he didn't even know he had to say that one little word. "Grendel…thanks."

"It's Gretel," she corrects him. "And you're welcome." His head flops down on the lumpy pile of pine needles wrapped in rags that he uses as a pillow. Gretel mops back his bloody curls and throws down the rag and rinses her hands.

She retires with aching bones to her bed as a swipe of dusty pink makes its way up in the sky, signaling early morning. What had Master Nottingham said?

 _"These are your martyrs, you weak little fools," he cackled. "We are merciful, kind to your traitorous selves."_

Martyrs. Kind. The words are foreign in Gretel's brain, and she tosses in the stuffy, foul smelling heat of the barracks. _They were willing to risk their lives for one little boy's hunger_ , she thinks sadly. _The children are naught but a skeleton with skin stretched over their bones. They look so pathetically miserable. This can't go on for much longer._

A streak of rich purple joins the pink in the sky. _It has to stop._

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I changed the title. I'm so wishy washy; sorrrrrry. It's just that I found a published book series called The Phoenix Rebellion, swore a bit, and then took a look back at my list of title choices for this story. I thought the Phoenix Rebellion would be a completely brilliant title because...oops, almost spoiled it.**

 **Amy Grimm: Wow, that was a long response to the QOTD. I gotta say I feel kind of bad for Ethan, being rejected so often and so constantly...BUT YOU KNOW WHO HE REMINDS ME OF? JAMES POTTER. I'm not saying you should marry him when you grow up, but he really reminded me of James when I read your review. Anyways, this was originally going to be from the antagonist point of view, but I decided to put that in later in the story. Thank you so much for the lovely words!**

 **DelusionalApple: Oh, you twitch when you read really intense scenes too? Good, I thought I was alone. But that's actually very nice to hear from you, because I tend to get goosebumps when I read really suspenseful writing and that's a good sign. Thanks for reviewing!**

 **QOTD: What is your guilty pleasure? Mine happens to be watching _Keeping Up with the Kardashians_ while sobbing into a bowl of ice cream because I'm never going to be that rich. I generally watch trashy reality TV whenever I'm sad because honestly, it makes me feel better to know that I'm probably a lot smarter than these people, or act like it. **

**Anyways, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed that chapter! Please follow and favorite this story!**

 **(Also please feed the review puppy—he's very hungry.)**


	5. V

**June 14, 2016. Ferryport Landing, NY. 3:16 AM.**

She doesn't know it, but sometime in the night, someone runs over quietly, discreetly, and brings back another person. A flame is coaxed from a stick of wood and tossed into a shallow pool of kerosene. Shadows blend with the dark wood of the barracks. A blanket is pulled off, the inhuman scent of rotting flesh winding round nostrils, choking them with the odor.

Through her last session of fitful sleep, Sabrina's begun to feel used to the awkward sort of pain rushing around her bones. A dull aching permeates her skull and some buzzing noise rings in her ears, like phantom wasps.

She hallucinates. Words beyond her world of thinking blur together, strange senses simultaneously caress and attack her body. A hot flush starts steaming on her skin, working its way to a simmer and then a raging boil. Her body writhes, trying to rid itself of the thing that's searing at its flesh and she works herself into a frenzy, only to have the fire be quenched with ice.

"Sabrina! Look at me," a voice coaxes. A ringing screams in her ears and a brown blur crawls into her vision. Something, she feels something going into overdrive, a dull pounding making her very skull tremble.

"Oh Momma, she's all feverish and I don't know what to do!" Gretel anxiously twists at her hands, grimacing. "I was so scared I'd be caught trying to find you and now—"

"Shh. Hush, child," Momma says kindly but firmly. "Part of her back is infected—see, it's inflamed right there." She points to a patch of bright red skin that has a nasty yellowed tint to it near her ribcage.

"She's damn near about half dead," Puck croaks. Everyone turns to him. "Look at her feet. Bluebeard broke them." Rotting, festering flesh clings to her bones and a putrid scent rises from them.

"Magic would sure be helpful about now," Momma murmurs. "It's too dangerous to go out and steal anything." She swivels around. "Gretel honey, you still have that clean water, right?"

Gretel nods. The prisoners secretly kept buckets of rainwater for children to drink and to clean wounds.

"Clean that washcloth and hand it to me, darling," Momma says. Gretel complies and wrings out the cloth, then hands it over to Momma. She blots Sabrina's forehead and the girl shivers at its touch.

"She looks like she's going to die, Momma," Gretel whispers plaintively. Goldilocks gently moves Sabrina's hair out of the way so Momma has room to clean her back.

"I won't lie to you, honey," Momma says grimly, "she might die soon."

With a slightly hysterical sob that brings on a round of shushing, Gretel buries her face into Goldilocks' shoulder and cries bitterly. Poor Sabrina, lying on the cot, oblivious to the world. Brave Sabrina, who risked her neck to bring food to the prisoners. Kind Sabrina, who stepped in front of the children about to be whipped.

Puck pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing as some of the whip's lash wounds crack open and start to bleed again. "There's _nothing_ you can do to help her?"

Momma shakes her head. "We can't go out and get medicine for her, honey. It's too dangerous. All we can do is hope and pray for a miracle."

"To hell with miracles," Puck snarls loudly. He's quickly shushed by the rest of the barracks as Sabrina stirs in her sleep. "Be real here, people! When have we ever gotten a miracle?"

"Hush, Puck!" Momma cries.

Gretel slaps a hand over Momma's mouth and motions, wide-eyed, towards the door. _Shush. You could be discovered at any time._

Puck hangs his head desolately. The tip of his nose peeks out from between his fingers, and his once kingly, ramrod-straight posture has been reduced to a pile of curved and malnourished bones. Ragged and dirt-caked fingernails rip tiny shreds of his skin and blood trickles from cracked lips. His chest shakes, the hollows between his bones thrown into sharp relief by the ominously flickering kerosene lamp burning in the rafters.

Goldilocks tentatively puts a thin arm around his shoulders. He stiffens at her touch, and she recoils. They sit.

Eventually, Momma goes back to her section of barracks and someone blows out the kerosene lamp before Master Nottingham or one of the other Scarlet Hand members can catch them and punish them. The clean water is put away and the prisoners lie counting the cobweb strings on the roof.

Sabrina fades in and out of consciousness. A brief acknowledgment of shuffling blankets. The taste of long sleep on her palate. Something tingling.

When she finally wakes up, a sharp gasp escapes her throat. A rustling, a stumble in the night, a hurried flame struck. " _Puck_."

A low, rasping moan comes from the side of the barracks. "I'm here." And then, "What's wrong?"

"It _hurts_."

He gnashes his teeth in frustration, in _anger_ because god, he's so helpless and it just feels like he's gotten his wings stripped off his back again. But that was a selfish pain—no, this, this is what pain feels like, to watch the ones you love die behind a glass panel. "You'll be okay, I promise you, you'll be okay."

She grits her teeth and catches her tongue in between, biting so hard that the taste of blood and pennies floods her mouth. A whine, like a wounded dog. Someone reaches out and touches her hair—softly, hesitantly. "Puck?"

"Yeah." His voice is low, soft, a little husky. "I'm here. It's okay."

"It's never going to be okay." Pressure's building at the base of her throat, and it's either going to be vomit, or a scream, or maybe both—

"Stay with me." Her voice barely goes above a dry squeak, but he rubs his thumb against the back of her hand reassuringly.

"Until the very end," he whispers.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

A few minutes pass, and all that anyone can hear is ragged breathing and the occasional small sniffle. "Puck?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm dying, aren't I?"

He bites his lip, tastes his blood. What is he supposed to say to that? How do you tell the one you love…how do you tell them they're dying? Do you say so and leave it like bacteria to fester in a wound, do you say so in assurance to them? Do you not answer, do you quiet them and try to kiss away their pain?

"Yeah."

She shifts underneath his touch, exposing a softly throbbing vein on her neck.

"Good."

* * *

 **WHOOOOOO GIMME A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR ACTUALLY UPDATING!**

 **i feel like this chapter is pathetically short, and it kind of is, sorry. it's like 1000 words beneath my usual and i'm somewhat disappointed because i had a whole outline planned out but i bit off more than i could chew and now i'm trying to take it easy with this story because i'm determined to finish this story this year because i _know_ i can do it. **

**on a side note, do you think i should up the rating to m? there's no sex in this (i'm such a prude, i could never write smut) so no worries, but i'm worried about the violence content and the several references to rape.**

 **as always, thank you for reading! reviews are read happily and reread as motivation to write the next chapter :)**


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